Red Velvet

Under the dim lights, the thin drizzle ruffled the train station into a quandary. I trudged my way through the slicks of the platform sixth, huffing and yawning like a dog nudged out of a beautiful sleep. 

“There you are!” I said, catching a breath. 

She was perched on a lonely bench under the light near the engine. Rain had soaked her. Her hair, dark strands of it, pressed against her temple hung elegantly.

“You called me in?” I asked as I got close, spotting her phone in her hands, tightly curled and resting on her lap. 

The air around was inert and I couldn’t find a single soul that was ready to breathe at this corrupt hour. Even for her, it seemed too frigid. I’d have offered my jacket, but damn it was freezing, and my chivalry was long dead.

“Well, we’ve got time to kill,” I wiped the rain off the bench next to hers and sat down. “So, what’s your—oh sorry—let’s call you Jane. Jane! That’s fine right? Okay? Jane…”

She didn’t object. Her eyes were fixed on the dark bulk of the parked train. Two bulging duffels pushed into her shins, seemingly her only source of warmth.

“That train is grounded till morning, if you are waiting,” I said, hunching into my hood, fingers thawing in my pockets. “Or did you buy the tickets and missed the ride already?” 

My tongue twirled in me, my words hanging. 

She wouldn’t bite. The rain, a few quiet drops, wept down from the lashes to her jawline and threaded into her collarbones. 

Whatever words she had interred in her soul were lost now. Lost too far into the echoes of the zephyr that moved her scarf. 

A ruby necklace. The most expensive kind studded with a pattern of diamonds perhaps, caught the light, toning a continuum to the silver of her wetness.

“That’s…” I glanced over my shoulder. Just tired engines and flickering lights here and there, the signal lights, a pressed red, and no wanderers, at least as far as I could see. Under my breath, I whispered, “Expensive!”

Everything about her screamed it out. Generational extravagance! Of course a bit spoiled for the hour. The gold watch, bracelet, rings, the wet leather handbag by her side, the glam skirt that didn’t fit the weather. She’d taken a wrong turn out of a gala for sure. No violins. No champagne. Just a lingering exclamation.

And now, my hands itched. To unzip and rummage through that bag and dig through the duffels rabidly. Maybe it was all money and she got too tired of it. Or maybe it was just a pile of clothes.

But, manners right? 

There’s always a right moment waiting around the corner to do the right, or in this case, the wrong thing. Fortunately, I had the grace of the local police.

A warm yawn twirled and snapped my bones out. “Extricate yourself, Jane. Come on! Things are stacking up good, but your silence … the signals are too weak for me.”

Her eyes stayed locked at the engine, like it was going to bleed some words if she stared long enough. 

“My patience too,” I pulled my scarf and muttered as the drizzle picked up.

I let the minutes pass, trying to engage her, to make sense of her call. I’d know if I had ever crossed paths with her. That’s not a face one would forget. I stood and sauntered to the hunk of metal and filled my nose with the smell of tar, grease, and petrichor. 

“Fascinating,” I announced, primly looking at her.

That right moment for the wrong thing. Well, it couldn’t wait anymore. 

It was now. 

I went back and gently slipped my pen under her necklace and lifted her stiff chin to lock her gaze to mine. 

The rain emptied out of the rest of the words from those pale eyes. Her heavy spine sank to a rest on the slats.

There were no bruises around her neck. 

I moved the pen down to the line of her blouse and pulled the scarf aside. 

No stab wounds. No bullet holes either. 

Just a silenced glossy puzzle wrapped in red velvet.